


The Dark of You

by laugan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Fade Dreams, Gen, I have a vague idea of what I'm doing, Post-Canon, Post-Trespasser, Prophetic Dreams, The Geas of Mythal, Well of Sorrows, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-15 22:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15423327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laugan/pseuds/laugan
Summary: Still she searched and dreamed and waited, for a way to change the Dread Wolf’s heart.What happens when the lines between reality and dreams blur; when dreams are more than just dreams? With ancient powers hunting her, Lavellan finds herself searching and manipulating the Fade for answers, some she does not want. When she’s unintentionally given more power than expected, can she use these new-found powers for good before evil takes over?





	1. Prologue: The End

**Author's Note:**

> "Where do you think we are?"  
> "This isn't real..."  
> "That's a matter of debate. Probably best discussed after you.. wake up."  
> -  
> I've been twisting this around in my head for some time, untangling it and re-tangling it. This will be a long journey, I think, but I hope you'll stick around. <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end, and the beginning.

 

* * *

_‘It was not supposed to happen this way.’_

The thought is persistent and claws painfully at his insides like a wild animal trapped in a snare, vicious and entangled, unable to free itself but unwilling to give up. They are the same words uttered the last time he saw her, when he left her and a world that never should have been to start over. 

He had failed the People, and he had failed her. 

Again and again. The guilt—the sheer burden—of what was to come, coupled with the failures and distractions of late, weigh just as heavily now as they had then. No. Heavier. But it is a burden he has known would come. One he alone must bear.

The ragged cry that escapes her cracked lips is almost too much to bear, but it is nothing compared to her future. The Anchor sparks, dragging her in agony to the ground. A base part of him wants to look away from her pain, ignore her cries and disappear back to the other side of the eluvian, not-so-blissfully ignoring the tug of his heart. 

And yet he lingers. 

“Solas! Var lath vir suledin!”

This is his fault after all, and he owes her what peace he can offer. How he wishes he could offer her more. His fingers twitch, craving the feel of her, even if only a momentary distraction. The pull she has over him, the whispers of something that could have been, never should have been. They are stronger now, he notices, more insistent and growing louder as he kneels in front of her. _Travel far. Go to him._ Vengeance and fear, pride and sorrow, all wrap around her, angry at the world but desperate to make it right. Something is not right; he senses it but he cannot allow himself to be pulled in by her, not again.

“I wish it could, vhenan…”

Her pale blue eyes, crystal like the mirrors between worlds save for that growing ruddy spot in her right eye, plead for his help and the comfort she knows he’s capable of offering. It is the same comfort he had provided after so many tiresome, bloody fights in the time they spent fighting the Venatori, Red Templars and demons, whether immediately after the last enemy fell or in the relative safety of their shared tent, night after night, week after week. Be it the Fade or their shared bedroll, they found each other, locking together the missing pieces of the puzzle they didn’t know they were trying to solve. 

But it cannot be. The pieces must be pushed from the table, swept into a corner and forgotten.

She knows as well as he that this is it. Death and despair are all that await either of them now, on their separate paths. The Anchor is killing her and the only way she’ll survive is if he takes it from her. She’ll lose her arm, but she’ll still be alive. The whispers call for him once more and he allows himself to give in.

“My love…” He is surprised the words come out without the crack of desperation he feels at the sight of her.

Pulling her close for one final kiss, he focuses on the freckles that dust her damp cheeks—there are seventy-three; he recalls counting them silently as she slept in the morning glow of her quarters, safe and warm, tangled together.

He refuses to close his eyes. Whether it’s guilt, fear or longing, he needs to remember this moment, of what pain he has caused her, and of the pain that is yet to come. A pain he has conscripted her to. It must be seared into his memory like a brand.

Their lips meet and it is a different sort of spark, igniting something deep within, pulling at his magic, and the whispers grow louder. It’s a fog, a cacophony of voices talking over one another, and he cannot understand what they say, save for one phrase.

_Bound to the same._

Before he can linger on the thought, the Anchor sparks violently again, causing her eyes to snap open and meet his. The reddish-yellow spot in her right eye flares, almost encompassing the clear blue pool its held in. As he gently holds her hand, trying to ease her pain, they grow frantic as she searches his; wide, scared and then…

Then they go dark. 

She slumps forward into his arms, heavy and weightless at once, and for the briefest of moments, before panic sets in, he takes in the fragrance of her hair as he tucks her head beneath his chin, pulling her close. Under the smell of battle, the scent of Vandal Aria—her favorite flower—lingers, verdant and honied, taking him back to long, cold nights in the Hissing Wastes, holding her close beneath his furs, watching the moon and stars, listening to the wolves howl. As desolate and beyond hope as it was, it was her favorite place, the desert. He had not counted her freckles again when they had returned. They had instead gone off to the Arbor Wilds and the rest, as they say, is history.

He laughs to himself. Oh, how he wishes to have told her then. What would have come of that?

He’ll stay with her, he decides; let this wave of pain pass and when she comes to he’ll ensure her companions can find her, and then he’ll leave her.

Once more, without a goodbye. 

It’s a painful realization, and he finds himself selfishly hoping she’ll remain unconscious, if only to hold her for a few more agonizing moments. He too closes his eyes and settles into her warmth, holding the Anchored hand tightly, feeling the energy of it crackle around them, twisting with his own as his power surges blue and hot. The feel of the Anchor is different though, stronger, more connected to her, to him, and to something else. Mumbled whispers flit around him in a fog, clouding his thoughts, pulling him in.

_She speaks the truth. She saw the lost._

Solas is confused, unable to understand what the whispers plead. Are they her, calling to him from the Fade? Could it be the voices of the Well, still haunting her thoughts, lingering in the shadows like a wolf stalking halla? The pull could very well be their desperation for justice, not his desire to be at her side once more. 

His sigh is weary and the mess of hair on her head tickles his skin with the gentlest of touches, bringing him back. Just a few more moments, he pleads as he tries to sort this out. His eyes open, glowing blue, as he begins the process of removing the Anchor. Electricity crackles in purple around the edges of his vision, a power beyond his own.

_‘I would have had you trust me.’_

The notion rings loud in his head, finally overpowering the constant reminder of his failure. Trust her, he could. But could he trust _himself_ not to abuse that offer?


	2. The Hunt Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for answers after her final meeting with Solas takes her deep into her dreams, where Elliana meets a couple of new faces, as well as a familiar one.

* * *

The sun dips lazily behind yellow fields that sprawl for miles in front of the Winter Palace. Alone she stands, watching the shadows grow long, like talons reaching for her, just like in her dreams. She shivers. Her friends left her some time ago and she can feel the chill of night slowly crawl up her legs, but she isn’t ready to go in just yet. Sleeping will only remind her of what she searches for, what she has searched for continuously over the last two years since his disappearance. 

But the wolf is always two steps ahead of her.

Fingering the pinned sleeve of the heavy, itchy red jacket, she regards her amputated arm with a deep frown. The details are hazy. No. The details aren’t there at all. One moment, she is pleading for his help, for his love, and to help him, somehow, anyway she can, screaming over the whispers that grew louder in her head. And the next…

Elliana shakes her head in frustration. The pain must have been too much. Dorian, Cassandra and Sera must have found her passed out where Solas had left her. She remembers Dragon’s Breath, Bull’s sudden appearance and betrayal, and the frantic battle against the Viddasala to get to Solas that followed. She had never been close with Bull—Hissrad, she bitterly reminds herself—but she knew Dorian had. Did she talk to her friend about it afterwards? She must have, she thinks, and yet she cannot recall the conversation. What sort of powerful potion or magic had they used on her?

She does remember storming into the council chambers and disbanding the Inquisition; remembers the look of surprise on Josephine’s face, and she wonders if they had discussed it. Apparently not. What’s done is done, she reminds herself—now it’s time to search for him. Skyhold will need to be abandoned; anyone looking to cause trouble will know where to find them, even if it is an arduous trip. Perhaps they could seek shelter in Haven’s rubble. Who, she wonders, is they? Will Leliana come? Cullen? Or is this a fight she’ll have to tackle alone?

Its quiet on the balcony, both comforting and unnerving. Trade the snow capped mountains of the Frostbacks for the flowered fields of Halam’shiral, cold, grey towers for warm, yellow balconies—and the lack of an arm—and it’s no different than when he left her the last time. Skyhold, The Winter Palace, it matters little where in Thedas she is, she is still left to go on by herself. She is alone in this world now, her Clan is gone, her friends speak of their new lives after the Inquisition, and yet here she stands. Alone. She will always be alone, she reminds herself as she reluctantly turns back towards the palace and the oversized, over-plush bed. Its comfort is lost on her.

An unwanted sleep awaits her, filled with dark whispers, sharp talons, the thrumming of a song she does not know, and most of all: a lack of answers. No sense putting it off any longer, she sighs. Perhaps this time she’ll get closer to the wolf who howls in her dreams.

—

Her dreams come in fits. 

Sometimes they are black and faded like the ether of the Well of Sorrows. Spirits float around her, tendrils of electric energy reaching but never touching, whispering but never fully coherent. Compassion, Hope and Wisdom surround her with a soft yellow warmth as though they are protecting her. Beyond them she can sense Rage, Fear and Pride lurking like wolves in the shadows. They crackle red and green, impatiently circling and it makes the hairs on her neck stand on end. From these dreams she awakes with sheets damp from sweat, her heart pounding but at a loss for why. The voices are louder on these days.

Other times her dreams are vibrant but cryptic, leaving her with more questions than answers. The spirits take form here, faint glimmers of forgotten people, and guide her through the Fade. She becomes close with Compassion—though it is not Cole—as well as Hope, and seeks them out often. 

She visits her Clan, before they were murdered in Wycome. Children dart through the trees, barefoot and gleeful as hunters return with the day’s kill, boasting of their adventures. She settles in with them for the evening’s meal and it’s like she never left. As always, Keeper Istimaethoriel is vague during their conversations, fiddling with a heavy wooden ring about boney knuckles. The ring baring a reminder of Fen'harel’s betrayal, that would later be gifted to her as First just before she left for the Conclave. What ever happened to it?

She hastily pushes the thought aside, and finds herself splashing in the crisp, cold water with the children as the red sun sets behind them, casting long, purple shadows along the river.

A warmth fills her heart, but it is surrounded by the black cloud of Clan Lavellan’s inevitably bloody end. Compassion and Hope float nearby, the support she doesn’t ask for but knows she needs. From these dreams, she awakes with a smile on damp cheeks and struggles to clear the fog of melancholy for the remainder of the morning. 

One thing they all have in common: she cannot find him. No matter how hard she thinks about it, tries to conjure up some semblance of his likeness, she cannot. On occasion, in the shadows and out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees a black wolf lurking. But when she turns to get a better look, she finds nothing and wonders if it was ever truly there. 

She worries she’ll forget what he looks like.

—

This is a familiar place, but feels different than her other dreams. It’s a place she’s only been once, with Morrigan years ago, but it was arguably the first introduction to a new world that didn’t leave her feeling like she had barely escaped with her life. 

She doesn’t remember walking through an eluvian to get here.

It’s warm, verdant, and blooming with grasses shooting up between worn passages, flowers bright on the edges of the pathways. The Crossroads of her dreams seem alive, where once they stood almost vacant. Darkened archways to unknown places and times now stand as glowing portals, beckoning her to explore. The metal, orb-like trees are crackling with a blue-green light and she feels the phantom ache of her long-gone hand as she moves closer.

No spirits linger here and it makes her uncomfortable. Compassion and Hope are not by her side as they usually are and she grows anxious. Where spirits are not, demons usually are. But all she hears is the crackle of the trees and…a bird cawing?

Only mirrors and oddly shaped trees surround her, Elven ruins mere shadows in the distance. Hesitantly, and on the lookout for both demons and birds, she begins walking, weaving through the mirrors. Other than the source of the sound, she’s unsure what she’s looking for but feels pulled down a bricked path to a particular cluster of sparking trees. 

At the center of the overgrown trees stands a single eluvian, twice as large as Skyhold’s and half the size of the one in the valley where she’d last spoken with Solas. A wolf statue guards one side, howling out its protection to the endless sky above while a dragon crouches, waiting, on the other side. There is a foreboding energy here, of betrayal and duty, that she cannot seem to shake.

“Girl!” 

A loud squawk follows the beckon and she looks up with a start to see a large black bird with beady red eyes staring intently at her from one of the trees. Its head tilts as it watches her.

“How have you come to be in this place?”

“I… This is the Fade, is it not?”

The crow scoffs and though she cannot see it, feels as though it is rolling its eyes at her. 

“You call yourself a mage? Did you not keep anything in that thick skull of yours, or did you lose all knowledge when the wolf chewed off your hand?” At that he swoops down and lands on the steps in front of the mirror. It studies her, as best a bird can do. 

“I am dreaming, am I not?” Defensively she grabs the stub of her arm, holding herself close. 

“Perhaps you are, perhaps not. This place holds many secrets and even more questions.”

“So seems to be my luck these days,” she grumbles bitterly.

“So seems to be your luck for quite some time, _Inquisitor_.”

Her lip curls at the title. Unease slides up her skin like slugs on a log: slow and slimy, leaving a heavy trace of its presence behind. There are no noticeable foes here, yet she cannot help but want to be this bird and fly as far away from this place as she can. At the very least, she wishes to wake, but she finds she cannot will herself to even do that.

“Last I was here, everything was dark. Now, the mirrors are lit. Where do they go?”

A chortle, if a bird can do such a thing, escapes its worn beak. “The better question might be where don’t they go.”

Elliana makes a face. “That isn’t helpful.”

“Did I ever claim to offer assistance?”

She shifts her weight to one hip and lets out an aggrieved sigh. The bird picks at its feathers, unfazed by her perturbed grunt. 

“Fine. Let’s start simple. Where does this one go?” She gestures to the one in front of her. 

“That one? Why not find out?”

“I’d like to know where I’m going, before I go,” she hisses as her nostrils flare, growing impatient with the bird’s games. 

“That did not stop you from seeking him out before,” it squawks accusingly. “You ran through those mirrors as fast as you could, with nary a thought to what lie on the other side except for the possibility of your wolf. Oh the hope, the desperation in those memories! And then you let him chew your arm off! Will you let him bite off another piece of you? Or perhaps you aim to get back a part? Your heart, might be?”

Leveling an annoyed glance at the bird, she takes a step closer to the mirror and watches as it glows brighter in her presence. The phantom tingle of her left hand is stronger here. _Travel far. Go to him._ The mirror calls to her, deep inside, beckoning, pleading, humming a song she swears she knows the words to but for some reason cannot remember. It swirls before her, red and green and blue and she can feel it on her skin, the oddly welcoming prickle of gooseflesh blossoming. If she closes her eyes she can see her missing hand, she can see _him_ , touch him with it, embrace him, fix everything, find balance between worlds as long as she’s by his side—

Elliana stops, slowly opening her eyes, the fingers of her right hand inches from the mirror’s glowing surface. The energy licks at her skin like a dog begging to play.

“Does she not wish to have her _mind_ eaten by the wolf as well?” The bird squawks, flapping its wings as it hops closer, leaning in with tiny red eyes that peer up at her as it tilts its head accusingly.

“Oh, but think of what could happen if you were to go! You could save your world, the people in it, the innocent lives, children, elderly, _your_ elves—at least the ones who have stupidly remained behind when Fen'harel has offered them sanctuary. Where is _your_ sanctuary, Lavellan, hm? He has said he loves you, yet leaves you to burn in this world. What weight do a wolf’s words hold?” 

Considering, she takes a step back, shaking her head in dismay. “It cannot be that easy. To simply walk through a mirror and find answers, find him. There is never a simple explanation.”

“You might be right,” the bird concedes before leering once more. “Yet how will you know unless you walk through. If you do not believe me though, perhaps you’ll find the answer you’re looking for when you—”

“No!”

“…wake up.”

A painful rasp of a yell escapes her dry throat as she shoots up in bed, rigid and shivering, labored breaths an agonizing scrape against her lungs. It feels as though her heart could actually jump out of her chest and onto the crumbled, twisted blankets in her lap. The sheets are wet again, from yet another night of cold sweats. It’s mornings like these that she is thankful she chose to stay in the shoddily rebuilt hut that overlooks the lake, not far from their makeshift headquarters beneath the ground where the Chantry once stood. 

_Solas’s hut_ , her heart clenches. Or at least where it once stood, before she leveled it with an avalanche. Memories of getting to know him amongst these little huts flood back; questions about the Fade, her people, Dorian’s commentary from across the way but she didn't care, she’d take anything she could get from this enigma of a man who saved her life. 

They would sit on the stone wall, looking out past the high walls to the lake and mountains, eating dinner together and chatting between listening to the shenanigans of Sera, Blackwall and the Chargers steps away at the tavern. Warmth fills her heart for a moment before turning to ice once more. 

Scrubbing her hand roughly over her face with a groan, she pushes the unruly mess of hair out of her eyes and plants her feet on the hard-packed dirt floor. Her toes involuntarily clench, trying to grasp at anything real, anything to quite literally ground herself. With a sigh, she stands and catches her reflection in the mirror. Leaning forward she examines her tired face, and notices her right eye looks more amber than blue today. Great. It’s been awhile since that happened. 

Her joints crack and pop as she stretches the sleep from her body with a weary groan. Another confusing night, another busy day trying to ignore it. 

—

It should not surprise her that this particular spirit latches onto her so quickly. It’s a theme in her life; from Keeper Deshanna to Cassandra to Mother Gisele, even Solas had spoken of it. And she admits, it is one of the few things that drives her, or at least did. 

Hope. 

For a better life for her people. For answers to unknown questions. For compassion and understanding despite differences. But with this need for hope comes the inevitable despair of something terrible happening once more to ruin it all. Some Arl or Bann just getting tired of seeing _rabbits_ everywhere. Rogue Templars dealing with mages in their own horrible way. Impatience winning out in the hunt for artifacts in Tevinter. Faltered hope leads to despair. And despair leads to impatience and regrettable actions. Despair hardens your heart, tells you the only inevitability is ruin. It whispers in your ear, ‘What’s the point of it all? Does any of it really matter?’ to the point where it seems silly not to agree. 

Which is likely why Elliana finds herself standing in the Frostback Basin, with one very persistent yellow spirit weaving itself around her as it examines who she is. She visits these memories of the Fade when she needs comfort that the sands of the Hissing Wastes can’t offer. Waves crash on the rocks some hundred feet below her as birds sing their night songs and the sun sets the sky aflame in hues of pink, orange and purple—this is where she comes when she needs to be reminded of the energy of the world around her, of its beauty. That she might find some glimmer of hope in all of this.

She watches this spirit of Hope flit around her, like a hummingbird darting from one flower to the next, as though it wishes to gobble up every morsel but is too distracted by other parts to stay in one place too long. It tickles her skin as it runs over her outstretched arm, weaving through her fingertips and around her upturned palm. A warmth fills her as it spreads wide across her chest and for a moment she thinks the haunting voices have quieted, but then it’s moving on to her other side and the whispers tickle the edges of her consciousness once more. 

“Not there,” she mumbles as it flutters around the scarred skin of her elbow where her arm once was. 

The spirit doesn’t listen, instead spreading a warmth over the area that makes Elliana shake the wisp off her. 

“I said ‘not there’.”

The spirit moves away, hovering distantly and for a moment she feels bad. It glows brighter, growing, and soon it reminds her less of a wisp and more like one of the archivists in the Vir Dirthara. A crackling energy moves it’s way over the spirit’s surface, wave-like and hypnotizing. It reaches out again, pressing a ghost-like hand to her chest and she feels a sudden brightness, like a cool cavern pool on a hot day. With its other hand, it holds the stump of her left arm gently and the warmth spreads from her chest to the arm. Elliana catches her breath, blinking back the unexpected wetness from her eyes. What was _that_?

It speaks at last, the first time despite many trips to the Fade together. “You hold pain, despair, agony, so many things I can help with. So many wrongs I can help right. ”

Its voice is warm and eager like Cole’s when he gets excited about helping others. She wonders if all spirits get like that when confronted with a being who lacks what they offer. Elliana has been wallowing in her own despair for some time now, perhaps since the moment Solas took her to Crestwood. 

The despair only got worse when he disappeared and she had to continue leading the Inquisition as though nothing had changed; had to deal with the looks of regret that seemed tinged with a smug satisfaction that the oddball apostate was finally gone. She dug herself deeper as calls for the disbanding of the organization grew, political sides fighting over military rights, ignoring all the wrongs _she_ had helped right.

The pit seemed endless by the time the Exalted Council came around and the Qunari plot was discovered. As she fought for her life and for her cause, the final flicker of hope was in front of her: broad shoulders, that warm voice, those grey-violet eyes. A chance for answers, a chance for change.

And once again, somehow, the pit grew even deeper as he left her there alone with yet more questions. 

They did have one thing in common though. They were both stubborn in their resolve. And while that pit may have been deep, Elliana had dug herself out before and damned if she wouldn’t do it again.

“Not all pains need to be healed,” she explains with a frown. 

“This one is deep.” The warmth presses further, tangling with her magic, drawing her in with its sense of peace.

“Well, yes. I did lose a big piece of myself.”

“It’s not the only piece you lost,” it points out, glowing eyes glancing at the palm on her chest. Elliana can’t disagree. 

“Why are you here?” She moves away, wrapping her arm around herself as she looks out over the water, watching the spray from the waterfalls glisten like a thousand fireflies in the sunset. The warmth dissipates quickly and she finds she misses it.

“To help you.” It flutters in place behind her.

“Yes, but why now?”

“Something isn’t right and you were the only one who could fix our world before, so I came to see if you could fix this.”

“What’s wrong with the Fade?” Elliana turns back to the spirit, concern on her face. 

“I cannot explain, something is off and loud and backwards and dark but also bright?” It shakes its yellow, wispy head. “I… I don’t know.”

“If you came, surely there are other spirits who seek me as well.”

“Have you not seen them? They lurk, but we protect you. Compassion knows you well, and would do anything for you. Wisdom is only free because you helped save it; it cannot remember much of that life but it does remember that. But beyond us lie Rage, Fear and—”

“Pride.”

“You are quite familiar with Pride,” it nods. “Though fortunately not as familiar as you could be. The wolf is only a part of Pride; he is complex and confusing and Compassion says we must keep an eye on him. A spirit that means well and can do so much, both good and bad.”

“And how do I know you aren’t a demon disguising themselves as a friendly spirit?”

“Well…” The brighter yellow spots where its eyes might be blink slowly, as it thinks. “You can’t really. But maybe if I take on a more pleasant shape, you might trust me more.”

“That might make me trust you less,” she raises a dubious brow.

It hovers for a moment, studying her.

“I come seeking help, both from you and for you. Tell me,” the spirit moves closer and Elliana swears she sees long ears forming in the yellow glow. “How do you feel? In my presence? Do I feel different from the bird?”

Her eyes shoot up in surprise. “How do you know about the bird?” 

“We are always with you, Elle. And we need you as much as you need us. Look inside yourself; do I seem evil?”

Suspiciously, and quite hesitantly, she looks down to her feet, and closes her eyes to sense the space around her. Inside her. It’s heavy and warm, like the fresh cakes the kitchen would make at Skyhold before they hosted Orlesian nobility. Those were rare occasions, when the masked players of Orlais would grace their halls instead of making the Inquisition come to them. 

She had never been much for sweets, having always preferred salty foods, but the memory is strong: the bright warmth in Solas’s eyes when she sneaks into the rotunda between guests to offer him a piece of cake. The twitch of a smile and the steadiness of the hand on her back as she slides it onto his desk, pressing a kiss to his head before disappearing reluctantly back through the door to her duties. She remembers the taste, even on his lips hours later in the privacy of her quarters. She didn’t mind sweets so much, then.

“There it is. _That_ hope.” She can almost feel the spirit grinning.

Elliana frowns and opens her eyes to stare at her feet once more.

But there are two sets of feet now. Hers, and another pair, dark and wrapped in leathers, attached to long legs that instantly make her think of Solas. Yet as she turns her head up—and up some more—the curve of hips beneath a golden tunic, the swell of a modest chest and the shimmer of a bright smile, stark against warm skin, are the complete opposite of him. Still glowing in front of her, but in an elven form, this is Hope. She’s tall. And very bright.

“ _Savhalla_ ,” the spirit says quietly, bright yellow eyes twinkling. With long fingers Hope picks sheepishly at one of the two beaded braids framing her warm brown face. “I’ve always wanted to try this, holding a shape. Do you like it?”

“I…” Elliana blinks as she stares up at the elf—spirit. Her dark, braided hair is pulled back, thick and big at the top of her head, falling down the back of a long neck, similar to some of the elves she’d seen north of Starkhaven, close to the Antivan border. Everything about this spirit-turned-elf is bright, the shimmering gold tunic it wears, the beads and toggles in its hair, the smile—even its eyes glow. 

What is happening? She shakes her head, rubbing the back of her neck.

“You don’t like it? I can change! What would you like to see? Something more similar to yourself?” Hope’s glow brightens and its edges soften as though she’s preparing to shape shift.

Elliana waves her hand frantically. “No, no! It’s fine. You’re fine—I like this shape. A lot, actually.”

Hope’s smile gets wider and tiny sparks of yellow jump off the toggles in her hair. “Oh, wonderful! I’m glad, so glad! You know, we are in the Fade, you could shape shift too! If you wanted your hand back,” the spirit nods to her left arm.

Instinctively she pulls the arm close. “No, I’m okay.” 

Hope studies her for a moment before a big smile lights up her face and she claps her hands together, causing Elliana to jump at the sound. “Right! So, this wolf? Shall we try to find him? I’m sure Compassion has some ideas!”

“I…” She blinks, confused and still processing what has just happened, but notices she doesn’t feel ill at ease like she had in the presence of the raven. 

“Come on, now!” Hope pulls at her hand, a solid feeling, unlike the ethereal weightlessness of a spirit’s touch. It throws Elliana off for a moment, but she feels comforted by the touch, like a long lost friend is giving her a hug. She closes her eyes as the Frostback Basin dissolves around her, and they begin their search for the wolf elsewhere in the Fade.

—

It's late winter now; the frozen river cracks as the ice melts and shifts down stream. Somewhere in the naked trees she can hear a squirrel chattering angrily as birds beat their wings wildly, taking off from their perch. 

She pauses for a moment near the riverbed, listening for the creature that has alarmed them. Only the creak of branches as snow falls from the trees can be heard alongside the tinkle of water at her feet.

Her trek continues for some time, as she walks in silence, avoiding frozen bracken and icy waters. Eventually she turns to look down river and is surprised when she can no longer see the rubble of Haven’s walls. More surprising is the dim light that fills the clear but Breach-scarred sky now, no longer the cheerful blue of afternoon but the subdued purple of early evening. 

How long has she been walking? 

The path is familiar but her location is not. The same chatter of squirrels and beat of wings on cold air calls to her again, this time closer. Louder. 

She squints her eyes and looks through the now-dense forest of evergreens. Something moves deep within, filling her with a curiosity at its faint sound. It drives her, urges her into the trees where the snow doesn’t reach the needle covered floor. 

The sound pulls her away from the river, deeper into the trees as she dodges low hanging limbs with increased speed. Before long she finds herself running after the creature ahead of her, certain she is close on its trail. 

A lone howl echoes through the valley she’s in, causing her to swiftly change directions. Further still from home. 

_Home_. 

It’s a lie she tells herself; that home is the makeshift camp they’ve made in Haven’s rubble, certain no prying eyes will bother their post-Inquisition efforts. Briefly, in the warm glow of their love, she had entertained the notion of finding a home with Solas after everything, but that hope was snuffed out almost as soon as it caught flame. Even the estate Varric gifted her in Kirkwall cannot be called a home, thanks to the many eyes in the city. She has no home, and hasn’t since she became the Inquisitor.

She grits her teeth and smacks a branch out of her face a little too roughly.

It’s dark now, with thick trees blocking what little sun she left behind along the riverbed. She throws a spell, casting a warm light at her feet so she can see as she runs through the woods. She’s abandoned her shoes, frostbite be damned with the fire that courses through her veins, and feels more alive and more connected with herself than she has since she left to spy at the Conclave. For the first time in years, she truly feels like an elf. Dalish, even with a naked face. 

She misses _home_.

The dirt, though cold, feels refreshing between her toes and the sticky smell of pine sap invigorates her. The wolf howls again, deeper still into the forest. Without hesitation she follows, quickly and quietly. The light at her feet fades more and more as her eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. She loses herself in the feel of the cold wind against her face, the gentle _woosh_ of the foliage as she runs, the hollow thud of her feet as they barely touch the ground before lifting and pushing her further ahead.

Awash in moonlight, there is a clearing ahead. The same direction the howls came from moments ago. She approaches, caught off guard at its familiarity. It reminds her of the few occasions her and Solas had stolen away from Skyhold and their responsibilities to be alone, sighting exploratory missions around the fortress. Cullen had always insisted he had such things under control, but a stern look from Solas always seemed to quell any further argument. They would explore her Rift manipulating abilities, with him always pleasantly impressed with her natural talent. She chalked it up to him being a better teacher than Her Trainer. What a nut that woman had been. 

Coming to a halt, she catches her breath, eyes wide as she notices a figure across the clearing. Anticipation clenches her stomach into butterflies as she recognizes the unexpected shape. Hidden under stringy blonde hair and a wide brimmed hat, a familiar, lanky young man sits on a stump, perched as if waiting for her. 

“…Cole?”

He looks up at her with a comical, almost impatient, sigh of relief. Leather scrapes against the wood as he shifts to see her better, his blue eyes alight in excitement. 

“You’re here! I mean, you’ve been here. You are always here.” He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “But you’re here now. He’s here too. Close. Closer than ever.”

“Close? Who?”

“You’ve been chasing him, for what feels like endless nights but is mere moments in time, twisting together, dancing, to and fro. Near and far. You must catch him. You must.”

“ _Who_ , Cole?”

“The wolf.”

The Wolf. She knew the answer but it doesn’t make it sting any less. 

“He is your pain, Ellie. It’s my job to help with your pain. His too. But he won’t let me in, he’s too strong. Solid, distant, a cloud of nothing yet clearly present. So I have to come through you.”

Solas. Her pain. She frowns as she looks around the moonlit clearing, uncertainty and excitement bubbling inside. What will happen when she finds him? Can she? Will he let her? Can two spirits really help in her search?

“I can help, it’s what I do,” he answers her thoughts quickly and enthusiastically, afraid she’ll say no. “You are both hurting, hiding, but together you can heal. There’s a dark wall. Thick and tall. Hard to climb over. Slick with anger, blood, regret, sadness. So much sadness. Hard to catch a glimpse, but the pain is there, glowing red, and without each other, everything will go wrong. So much more wrong than it already has, so you must catch the wolf. You can and it must be with both hands, tightly. Do not let go, Ellie. Please.”

She raises the stump of her left arm as her lips curl into a sarcastic sneer. “That may prove difficult.”

“Yes, yes, now it definitely is,” he waves dismissively. “But it will not be.”

Her brow furrows in confusion at his twisted way of speaking. 

“Where is he, Cole?”

The spirit jumps down from his perch, his shoes silent as they hit the hard ground. His face is lit up in anticipation, like a child gifted a new toy. Like he’s been waiting for her to come with him for ages. It’s been a year since he disappeared back into the Fade with vague notions of helping others who needed compassion. She feels a delayed warmth spread in her chest over seeing him, like a long lost family member. Despite being a spirit, she always thought of him as a younger brother. Solas had too. 

“ _Garas_ ,” he instructs. 

“You speak Elven?” 

“Of course,” he says with a furrowed brow beneath unruly hair, though his tone implies he thinks it’s a silly question. With the cock of his head, he turns on his heel and they head deeper into the forest in search of the wolf. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Savhalla - hello  
> Garas - come, follow


	3. The Forgotten Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliana, Cole and Hope explore an ancient place in the Fade that she has never been. Other powerful beings stalk the same forest.

* * *

 

Elliana blinks at the papers on her desk, suddenly aware of them and unsure what they are for or for how long she’s been staring at them. Likely letters and requisitions, more things to busy herself with to take her mind off the task at hand. It’s a task she puts all of her energy into—heart and soul—but a part of her also wants to never think about it again. 

It’s exhausting. She needs to find him.

But she’s no closer today than she was a year ago. Everything blends together. A year of tense conversations in their makeshift war room. A year of skirting the edges in hopes of being strategic yet wondering who amongst them may be a spy. A year of dead ends. 

Leliana is surprisingly patient in her methods, Cullen quietly awaits the next move, Josephine continues to make connections even from Antiva, and Cassandra does what she can, when she can, as Divine. Elliana is just surprised her hair hasn’t started greying from the stress.

They just keep going in circles. Around and around with no end in sight. How she wishes for an end. 

And yet the end is what she’s trying to prevent. Elliana knows there must be another way, but until she can find him, until she can be sure of what he plans to do, she does not know what _she_ should do. 

Frustratingly, her dreams leave her with more questions than answers. With the help of Hope and Cole she has been able to actually glimpse the wolf watching her from the shadows, and they are leading her towards him, albeit slowly. She can only hope that this is the sign she needs, that wherever she ends up finding him will be where she needs to go in the real world, and whatever conversation she has with him will be the answer to the myriad of questions she has asked again and again. 

But she won’t give up. Not on him. And not on this world. 

Her friends and colleagues think her crazy. They believe his mind is made up and the only reason they still work together is because the one common goal they have is merely getting to him. They want to stop him, she wants to help him. 

Destroying this world doesn’t have to happen, she hopes. But she does want a world where elves are not second-, nay third-class citizens and magic is not vilified. To be able to exist without persecution from either humans or Templars is a pull too strong. It had been hard enough growing up a wanderer, forced to flit around the edges of society when she held in her hand, in her spirit, the power to effect incredible change. And then to actually have power placed into her hand, to close the Breach twice and still hear ‘knife ear’ behind her back, to still have her Clan destroyed at the hands of humans. She was powerless after all.

It’s frustrating. Everything is frustrating. 

A small part of her wants to quit, to disappear into the woods and live out her remaining days in relative happiness. Yet knowing the potential threat her former lover is, she cannot and will not sit idly by. 

A polite, though pointed, cough interrupts her and she realizes she’s staring at a blank sheet of paper. Again.

“Cullen.”

“Inquisi—Elliana,” he stumbles, even now at the lack of formality. How, she doesn’t know.

“I hope I have not kept you waiting, staring at nothing like a fool,” she smirks, coming to her feet. Absently she brushes the invisible dirt from her coat and runs a hand through the mess of hair on her head, anxious tics developed during her time as Inquisitor. It falls into her eye and with a puff of air she moves it back into place.

“On the contrary, I only just arrived.” He smiles, his blue eyes soft and earnest. 

“So…” her brow furrows as she tries to leave the fog of her own thoughts and do her job. “Tevinter, yes?”

“Correct,” he moves into the room, one hand casually clasping the pommel of his sword. “I am concerned with the current plans for infiltration. I understand, and know first-hand and very well, that Leliana is seasoned and capable and knows what she’s doing, but sending that many spies in seems ill-advised. Reckless, even.”

“What would you have us do instead?”

“Well, Dor—”

“And don’t say Dorian,” she levels a flat expression towards him, her brow twitching slightly in amusement. 

Cullen sighs and begins to pace the room. His own tic, she notes warmly.

“Commander, I cannot involve him, you know this. Dorian made the decision to return home, to make changes from within that will ultimately benefit all of Thedas. He’s making progress, more so than I can say for the rest of us.”

“Yet those changes will have no bearing if Solas destroys the world first, with the aide of whatever it is he seeks in Tevinter. With the help of the Imperium, at Dorian’s request, imagine how much quicker we would be able to secure whatever artifact he aims to acquire.”

Elliana rubs her brow, leaning against the edge of her desk. Exasperation wafts off her; annoyance, impatience, sympathy and fear, all bundled into one mess known as her life.

“I won’t involve him if he wishes to focus his attentions elsewhere, Cullen, especially when we have other means. The Magisterium is in a fragile state even now as he works to make significant improvements.”

“That’s quite selfish,” Cullen scoffs and she can see him grinding his jaw as he paces the room. “Both of the men you were closest to, doing what they want without regard for others. Do they have any idea what their choices do to the rest of us?”

Elliana makes a face, fingering the jaw bone sitting on the desk. She grows sullen as she looks at it. If only Cullen knew the weight of Solas’s burden, but even with all his Templar-related troubles, she’s unsure he’ll ever truly understand. 

“There are reasons for everything, Commander, but ‘sometimes only terrible choices remain’,” she says wistfully as she picks up the necklace, wrapping the leather cord around her fingers. She meets his scowl. “Besides, I will not see the elves of Tevinter corralled like sheep, treated worse still than they already are, as a result of my actions. My people need help, and rushing to rely on the Magisterium will not provide them with lives free of shackles. Not when Dorian has only just begun to affect change.”

The bone feels frail in her hand as she clutches it to her chest, her brow growing heavy and her eyes distant. Solas’s goal is admirable; bring back the elves of old, along with the magic that once flowed freely amongst the People. She wants it, too. At first she had wanted to come with him in hopes of changing his mind and protecting the world she had just fought so hard to save. Yet even after years of leading the Inquisition, working to save the world from various threats, big and small, she is still looked at as a knife-eared apostate. Murmurs of complaints, slurs and back-handed compliments filled her ears as she went about her unwanted duty, and instead of thanks, she gets urged to either disband or fall in line. 

She will not fall in line. Not to humans. The cycle needs to end; the wheel needs to break.

Perhaps the hardest thing is figuring out how to achieve a peaceful world when chaos erupts. If only she could find him, she could ask him. Bringing down the Veil is one thing, but what does he intend to do once that happens? Will the People forgive him for his transgressions? 

She knows the answer, and knows his response as well. He has already made the choice to sacrifice everything—his happiness, their love, a future, his very life—in favor of righting his wrongs. 

How many wrongs can be wrought with more wrongs? How much chaos is demanded to set the course straight once more?

“When was the last time you ate, Elliana?” 

Cullen’s warm, concerned tone pulls her from her musing. Yet again she’s staring at nothing, lost in the endless circle of thoughts that consume her. 

“You look… worn, is all,” he responds when she answers with a confused glance up at him. 

“It has been a bad few days—nights, actually,” she lets out a heavy sigh and slips the necklace around her neck, tucking it safely within the folds of her coat. 

“The nightmares?” He inquires as they leave her office in search of the mess tent.

“I cannot seem to shake them. Lately it’s been the same one, over and over. I hear the howl of a wolf—it has to be him—yet when I think I’m close, chaos erupts around me and I awake as though I’ve just jumped through the Fade once more.”

Cullen places a well-meaning hand on her shoulder as they walk but she can’t help but flinch at the contact. She never was one for being touched. “I’m sorry to hear, truly. Do know that despite our differences of approach, I am here, in any way you need, as you were once for me.”

A soft smile pulls at the corner of her lips as they reach the makeshift dining hall.

“I appreciate it, and will take it into consideration. For now, something to eat and perhaps a bit of elfroot, and I should be able to sleep soundly tonight.”

“You and that damned elfroot—I once thought Harding’s tales were pure conjecture,” he laughs softly, pulling the tent flap open for her. “Turns out all these requisitions for bundles of elfroot are for our esteemed leader!”

“Completely falsified rumors, Commander, nothing more,” she grins impishly as they move closer to the heady smell of winter stew that awaits them.

 

—

 

It doesn’t take long for Cole to begin accompanying her in as many dreams as he can. Hope joins them most of the time, and together they search for the wolf.

When Cole finds her next its deep within a giant forest. Its unlike any place she has seen before, with trees growing so tall she cannot see their tops, their trunks as wide as the great hall at Skyhold. Massive, twisting roots jut back and forth, up and across an overgrown path in front of her as wisps dance languidly in the air like festival lanterns. 

Elven ruins lay hidden beneath the moss and shoot up through the trees, delicate archways crumbling from years of disuse. What exactly they used to be, she cannot tell.

New to this world, the wisps are drawn to her, flitting around her curiously before floating off towards the foggy depths from which they came. They are soft, warm, and tickle her skin as they inspect this strange being in their world.

Elliana can’t help but take a moment to smile, eyes wide in wonder as she slowly steps forward, feeling the soft grass of the path beneath her feet.

“Where are we, Cole?”

“The Forgotten Forest,” he whispers from beside her, as though he’s worried he’ll disturb the denizens of this mysterious world.

“Have you been here before? You must have, if we are here,” she runs her fingers over the stalk of a giant mushroom that hangs over her head. She can feel the life inside it, verdant but patient, knowing it isn’t going anywhere any time soon.

“I have. Before I was Cole, I spent centuries here amongst the trees, though it was not quite as overgrown as it is now. Peaceful, calling. It’s home but it’s a memory lost to time.”

“Is that possible? If it’s a memory, how can it alter in time?”

“It’s not a memory, it’s an _opportunity_ ,” a soft voice joins them. 

They turn to see Hope stride closer, her long steps swift and fluid. She is in her elven form, tall and broad like the ancient elves. Like Solas, she towers over them by a head and a half. Hope’s face is long but lacking the harsh angles of the ancient elves she’s seen in the Crossroads, her yellow eyes are wide and willing, and a constant smile plays upon her full lips. The gold tunic that glides over her dark skin is simple but the threads glimmer in the light that filters through the massive leaves above them. 

“You are capable of manipulating the Fade, maybe you are doing that now,” the embodied spirit posits. “Do you feel it?”

Elliana furrows her brow and focuses on the forest around her. Closing her eyes she listens to the rustle of the ferns, the melody of a far off stream. A soft hum of energy is here, thrumming against her soul, different from the rest, and it beckons her, draws her closer despite keeping its distance.

“There it is!” Hope squeals and claps in excitement as she listens to Elliana’s thoughts. “It could be what we’re looking for, we should definitely find it!”

“Caution, fear. Distance, desire. What if it’s him? What do I do, say? It can’t be this simple, it’s never this simple,” Cole mumbles, twisting his fingers together, his eyes hidden beneath the tattered rim of his hat.

“I can’t tell what it is, it could be dangerous,” she eyes the expanse of air above them, watching the fuzzy lights float about, willing a spirit of Valor to join them in protection. None come to her. 

“If it’s him, that’s what we’re here for, no? Let us find your wolf!” Hope grabs her good arm and pulls her gently into the forest, not looking back to see if Cole follows.

They walk for what feels like hours, but her feet never ache. Around them wisps float about, and amongst the trees she can see the glowing shape of halla grazing and watching her from a safe distance. It is a weird place, some how eery and welcoming at the same time. She finds herself wanting to explore off the path, but also never wants to leave the sides of her friends. 

In the time they’ve been walking, they have amassed a following of timid halla. The creatures are hesitant but keep pace, intent on staying close. She can’t make out their features from the distance they keep, only their glowing shape, with wisps of light and white energy dispersing around them, tangling along their antlers before disappearing into the air around them. They bring her comfort, a familiar shape amongst an unfamiliar world.

Eventually they happen upon a crumbling building, a cathedral of sorts. It was definitely once a place of worship, she determines as they walk up the crumbling stairs to the gilded archway of its entrance. The halla have part like a hot knife through butter, two groups weaving their way around the building, to meet them on the other side.

“Pain. Loss. Confusion. Why have we been forsaken? What did we do? Frantic prayer, helpless grasping yet nothing answers their calls, an eternal slumber is all that awaits.” 

Hope and Elliana exchange a concerning look before stepping over the threshold of the long forgotten structure. Cole lingers further back, still.

Inside is a ruin, as she expected. The tall ceilings glow from sun that peaks in where wood beams once held a roof. The air is still here and around her small, delicate flowers in purple and red cover the yellow tiled floor, climbing up fallen stones. Statues line either side, symbols of the elven gods, though their visages are long marred. A figure looms outside on a dais at the opposite end, but she knows immediately what, or rather who, it is. It rests like all the others, protective and vigilant.

As they step over the blossoming flowers and crumbled stone towards the statue on the other side, a black bird swoops through the building, low enough that she can feel the air move.

“A darkness, heavy, looming. It wants to help but only because it will grow fat like it once was, after the world went dark. Despair, dread, the end and the beginning. Starving yet so, so picky.”

The crow settles on the base of the wolf statue, flapping its wings as it beckons her. It is stark black against a backdrop of patient, glowing halla that graze in the meadow beyond the likeness of Fen'harel. An uncomfortable charge of energy surrounds her, green and bright, but she cannot see it, only sense it. It’s not her energy, not her magic. Whatever this bird is, it is not good. 

“Why are you here?” she spits. 

An evil, shrill caw comes from the bird, a twisted laugh from its worn beak. “Believe me, child, if I did not need to be in this retched place, I would not be. However, it seems you may very well hold the key to something quite important to me, thus I feel obligated to help you on your quest.”

“I don’t need the help of a bird.”

“You think me a mere bird, girl? Still as dense as the last time we spoke,” it shakes its little black head. “Do the halla speak to you? The squirrels? I am so much more than a bird, you will see.”

Elliana looks over at Hope who shrugs, and Cole who rocks back and forth, staring at his feet. Helpful lot, these two are. 

“What key—what are you looking for?”

“What I’m specifically looking for is of no consequence to you, yet the sorrow you hold inside you may just be the bridge I need.”

“Sorrow? I am not sad.”

“Stupid, stupid girl. Come now! Do you not remember the thirst that was quenched with a thousand voices? You seek knowledge and answers, and yet you do not consult the very creators of everything around you. It is a shame, so much knowledge, so many secrets—a waste!”

Thin brows furrow as she realizes what the creature seeks. “The Well. Are you an agent of Mythal? Of Fen'harel, perhaps?” 

It flaps its wings roughly, hopping a few steps along the back of the statue and leers at her.“It is all connected, is it not? What I seek, Fen'harel once offered, and it seems he may offer it again. Or perhaps you can. Either way suits me.”

“And what is that, precisely?” She eyes the crow suspiciously. 

“Only the very thing the wolf aims to do anyway—”

A loud howl reverberates off the stone around them, causing Elliana to jump. Hope lets out a shriek and Cole procures two sharp blades, readying for attack. The halla who had gathered, hundreds it seems, now scatter into the forest, their thundering hooves a torrent against the silent ground, just like her rapidly beating heart, as she catches sight of the source of the sound.

Across the meadow, staring at them with six glowing, red eyes, stands the largest wolf she has ever seen. The mere fact that she can see it, that its not a figment of her imagination, a fleck in the corner of her eye, leaves her dumfounded for a moment. 

“The wolf!” Hope exclaims, shaking her limp shoulder. 

“It seems your wolf has found you, instead of the other way around. No matter, you still must catch him,” the bird shrugs, and shoves into the air. 

“But what about—”

“Catch the mongrel, then perhaps we will talk again!” And the crow is gone, disappearing into the darkness of the tangled trees beyond the ruins.

Elliana frowns at their hastily finished conversation. Her curiosity is piqued. What offer did the bird have? Perhaps it is only using her. Unfortunately, she must catch the wolf regardless.

“Solas…” She steps forward, off the dais, and onto the cool, lush grass.

 

—

 

He visits this place because it is filled with relics of old. Despite its lack of ancient elves, it is full of ancient spirits and wisps, holding various information that could prove useful. 

If he could find the ones he needs. So far, his luck has been poor, filled with memories of the shems’ desecration of the People’s lands. It’s frustrating, sad, and he’s growing impatient.

_‘Let’s find your wolf!'_

An unfamiliar voice calls, somewhere across the forest. If it weren’t for the unusual nature of this forest, he would be unable to hear it at this distance, but he does hear it, and cautiously he moves forward.

He stalks the sound of feet—paws—on the forest floor, urging halla out of the forest to both clear his path and hide his scent from this creature surrounded by spirits. It’s a small thing; wouldn’t even be to his knee in elven form, with ears that flop of their own accord as it trots along. 

The fennec, white and grey with a pink nose to the ground, moves at a steady speed, both exploring freely and on a mission. On either side are two spirits, faintly humanoid, though he cannot tell who they are, or what spirits they might be.

The halla are trailing behind the trio, keeping their distance from both them and him. They are anxious, but follow his will, to stay in place with the little creature. Another small benefit of his restored power. 

He follows them to a temple, ruined and forgotten like the rest of this place, and his ears quirk forward when he hears a familiar voice, drawing out a litany of emotions as they climb the crumbling stairs. 

The wolf grunts to himself—he was certain he had put up wards enough to keep the well-meaning spirit of Compassion away, and yet here Cole is, mere steps from him. There is an unmistakable energy from the little fennec, fiery and bright, like a freshly lit match against a dark sky. An energy that pushes against his own, uncomfortable and present. 

It isn’t until darkness swoops down upon them that he knows who it is, and when he realizes, he’s frustrated as to why he didn’t realize it sooner. A hundred different feelings run through his veins, hot like her energy, causing his lip to snarl involuntarily. 

Elliana.

How is she here, so close to him? In a place she had surely never been? It had to be the result of one of the spirits with her, Cole or this other, rather aloof, being. Regardless, she should not be here, he had made sure of that. 

The crow is sitting on the statue of his likeness—not a very good one, he thinks—bargaining with the fennec, leering with red, beady eyes. 

It begins talking of the Well, of her entrapment to it even now, of Mythal.

Of him. 

Keeping an ear pricked towards the conversation, he takes off, circling the halla who graze in the lush meadow at the base of the crumbling cathedral. 

“…What I seek, Fen'harel once offered, and it seems he may offer it again,” he hears the bird say. “Or perhaps you can. Either way suits me.”

“And what is that, precisely?” 

The bird wants what he had once offered, and would offer again? Other than mistake after mistake, what had he offered? Frantically the wolf searches his memory, thinking as he stops on the opposite side of the herd from the conversing group. 

His red eyes light up in fear as realization hits him.

Chaos. Despair.

No. He will not allow demons to bargain with her; he had already failed her by not more adamantly begging for her to not fall into the service of Mythal. Now would be different. It has to be.

“Only the very thing the wolf aims to do anyway—”

All of his power goes behind the awful sound that comes from his maw, spooking the halla out of their trance and scattering them to the tangled roots on either side of the meadow. 

The bird takes off hastily, and he is left staring at this small blue-eyed creature across the field that separates them. His heart thuds in his chest, his nerves burn and an uncomfortable sensation twists in his belly—Anxiety? Longing? Yes. 

Time seems to freeze then, as the fennec steps onto the meadow from the stone step and transforms back into the woman he remembers. Through the fog of transformation, he soaks in every detail of her as though he’ll never have a chance to again. Her hair is a mess as always, tousled and covering one of her bright eyes. A headstrong, defiant look of determination shadows her brow as she takes another step, and another, closing the gap between them. 

A thousand stones pull his legs into the ground, anchoring him in place, lost in her trance as she moves closer still. He must move, he has to. She cannot catch him. 

With the shake of his giant black head he frees himself of her pull and feels at a loss almost immediately. Turning swiftly on his heels he runs, dashing under roots and branches, toppling mushrooms and tearing through flowers back to the eluvian he came in through. Something is pulling him here, keeping him from just willing himself away. Why has he lost control of the Fade? How is she here? It is impossibly peculiar, but he’ll have to wait until he’s safely on the other side of the glass to consider it.

The eluvian glimmers to life in front of him as he bounds towards it, but he pauses when he reaches it, turning back to an empty forest. Confused, he listens, flares his nostrils to search for her scent, and suddenly she breaks through the bracken, panting and wide eyed like last he saw her when the Anchor tried to claim her. 

_Vhenan…_

Elliana grits her teeth and pushes forward towards him, and with the heaviness of longing pressing down on his heart, he slides through the mirror. 

It goes black as she crashes into it with a pained roar she knows he cannot hear. Her hands ball up and pound against the hard surface until they are bloodied and her voice is hoarse. When she awakes, this pain will have followed her, both emotional and physical.

So close.


End file.
